


Father & Son Holidays

by vcg73



Series: Dad Kurt & Doc Adam AU [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Birthday, Christmas, Easter, Gen, Holidays, Mother's Day, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vcg73/pseuds/vcg73
Summary: Written in answer to an old fashioned 5-and-1 prompt to write about Kurt and Burt. I chose to look at them through a series of holidays together. (5 time the Hummels spent holidays as a 2-person family, and 1 time they didn't.)Final chapter is set in my 'Dad Kurt & Doc Adam' AU but it isn't necessary to read that first.
Relationships: Burt Hummel & Kurt Hummel
Series: Dad Kurt & Doc Adam AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1110759
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	Father & Son Holidays

**1\. Burt’s Birthday**

\- It had been just a few weeks since Katy’s funeral and the last thing Burt wanted to do was celebrate growing another year older, knowing that his wife would never be able to do so again.

He thought about just staying in bed, returning to a heavy and hopefully dreamless sleep that would allow this day to pass unnoticed and unremarked. It’s the way he begins every new day lately.

But he doesn’t do it, because there’s someone else to think about. Someone else to get out of bed and join the world of the living for. Thankfully, blessedly, there is Kurt. Burt still has someone else to think about and take care of. Someone else to care about. A little boy who does not deserve any more reasons to worry. They’ve both had enough of that, with a long year of cancer treatments and hospital visits behind them.

His eight year old understands loss and sadness better than anyone his age should, but Burt thinks that he might not understand his father’s need to hide from the world, especially on his own birthday.

Because as much as Kurt misses his mother, he is a caring and optimistic little soul. He had recently expressed some doubts about the existence of God, wondering if He might not be in same league as Santa Claus, but he liked the idea of Mommy being in a pretty place with no pain, where she could run and laugh like she used to do. Even though he couldn’t see her, Kurt had very solemnly told his father that he would rather do without her if it meant that she could be happy and well again.

If a motherless little boy could be that brave, that selfless, then what right did his father have to do less?

With a feeling of resolve Burt got out of bed and took a shower, allowing a little extra time under the hot spray just because it felt good. He even used a bit of Katy’s leftover vanilla body wash, the kind that Kurt loved because he thought it smelled like cupcakes, inhaling the scent and pretending for a moment that she was still with them. Then he got dressed in a pair of comfortable blue jeans and a gray t-shirt, putting the blue and green plaid flannel shirt that Kurt had given him last Father’s Day over the top. It was a small thing, but he wanted his son to know that he still cared.

When he got downstairs, Burt was glad that he had made the effort. Kurt was just finishing laying out breakfast for two on the dining room table. He had dressed himself in one of those funny little suits he favored, with the shiny vest and clip on tie, and combed his hair just-so. He was not allowed to operate the stove without supervision, so he had poured them each a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, and it appeared that he had made a pot of fresh coffee and a few slices of buttered toast as well. There was a small bowl filled with strawberry jam set between their breakfasts, complete with serving spoon. The place settings themselves were neatly set with spoons, butter knives and napkins. Those fancy cloth place-mats that Katy liked for holidays, each set with a paper doily for the bowls, cups and toast plates to rest upon, marked each of their places.

And next to Burt’s, much to his surprise, was a small stack of haphazardly wrapped gifts.

He must have made some kind of noise, for Kurt looked up. “Happy Birthday, Daddy! Do you like it?”

“Looks great, son. You really outdid yourself.”

The little boy surveyed the table with satisfaction. “I know!” he agreed, making Burt laugh. He pointed to the setting with the gifts and said unnecessarily, “That’s yours. I made you Cocoa Puffs. With a banana!”

“Mmm,” he said, settling himself in the chair that Kurt helpfully dragged out from the table for him, trying not to wince as the child struggled with the heavy oak chair, scraping it loudly against the floorboards. “I didn’t know we had any Cocoa Puffs.”

Burt would swear that Kurt’s little chest puffed out like a bullfrog’s as he proudly announced, “I went to the dollar store yesterday after school and spent my whole allowance! I got cereal, and spaghetti-o’s, and a card, and a two-pack of Hostess cupcakes for tonight. Oh, and presents!”

A painful bubble of emotion welled up in Burt’s chest at that. Spaghetti with meatballs was his favorite dinner, and Katy had made it for him every year on his birthday. Kurt must have remembered that and done his best to carry on the tradition without her. Canned mini-noodles in crappy sauce would not be remotely the same, but it was the thought that counted, and maybe it was for the best that the meal would be a little different this year.

He cleared his throat. “Wow, that’s a lot of shopping on eight bucks. Should I open this stuff now?”

Kurt’s little nose scrunched up. “Maybe we should eat first. These lose most of their chocolate if they get too soggy.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed.

Burt actually hated Cocoa Puffs. Give him a jelly donut and a can of Coke for breakfast any day. His wife had usually avoided buying the kinds of cereal that would cause their son to bounce off the walls all day, but like most kids, Kurt thought those little chocolate sugar bombs were the best thing ever. So Burt fished out the banana slices and ate those first, then manfully swallowed a few spoonfuls of chocolate cereal, washing them down hurriedly with coffee - wondering how it was that his kid made better coffee than Burt himself had ever managed - and bites of slightly burned toast. 

Oblivious to his struggle, Kurt happily slurped up every bit of his, right down to the sugary brown milk. And if he used too generous a serving of jelly on his slice of toast? Well, what the heck. They were celebrating. At least he ate his fruit and drank all of his orange juice.

Kurt finished eating first and then sat there, staring expectantly at his father. Burt was happy to set aside his half finished breakfast. “Can’t eat another bite,” he said honestly, disguising how little he had consumed by laying his napkin over the top of the bowl. “What should we do now?”

Bouncing a little in his chair, Kurt grabbed the blue envelope at the top of the little gift pile and held it out. “Start with this.”

Nodding, Burt opened the envelope, pausing a moment to note the addition of several stickers decorating the envelope. Some kind of aliens, he thought. A big blue furry dinosaur thing and a little round green eyeball on legs. The same creatures decorated the wrapping paper on his gift. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the blue guy.

“That’s Sully, and the other one is Mike. They’re the characters in a new movie that started last Friday,” Kurt told him. “All the kids at school were talking about it. It’s called ‘Monsters, Inc’.”

And just from the tone of Kurt’s voice; that slightly too nonchalant tone that came out whenever he really desperately wanted something that he had already made up his mind that he shouldn’t ask for; Burt knew that he really wanted to see that movie. Burt had somehow stopped paying attention to things like movies and other popular entertainment when his wife got sick, but hearing the name made him vaguely recall one of his mechanics going on about this film and how much his daughter was looking forward to it. “Oh, right. The same people who made that one about the toys who come to life when nobody’s around did this one, right?”

Kurt looked impressed. “Toy Story,” he clarified with a nod.

“Right, right, I remember. We took you to see that when you were four or five. You were convinced every morning for weeks that your action figures and stuffed animals weren’t where you left them when you went to sleep.”

“I was just a little kid then.”

Burt laughed and ruffled his hair, smiling when Kurt scowled and immediately set it to rights again, then smiled back as if he could not help himself.

Burt looked at Kurt. Really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in months. For once not seeing a reflection of Katy, or a child who needed something from him and therefore required him to keep functioning. For once he was really seeing Kurt, the eight year old boy who somehow had remained sweet and enthusiastic and caring in the face of an incredible tragedy. Seeing a son who was already starting to act too grown up for his age, but who still had enough of the child in him to long for things like cartoons and sugary cereals, and who, just maybe, needed a day out with his dad where neither one of them was forced to dwell on what they had lost, instead of appreciating what they still had.

“That was a good show. Kinda like to see if this new one lives up to it. What do you say we get these presents opened and then you go put on something comfortable and take your old man to a movie for his birthday?”

Kurt’s eyes lit up. “Okay!” Then his enthusiasm dimmed as he remembered, “Oh … but I don’t have any more money.”

“Pretty sure I missed a couple of allowances this year,” Burt said half apologetically, knowing he had probably missed a great deal more than that. “What do you say to some back-pay?”

“Okay,” he said again. “Do you think I have enough back-pay coming to buy us some popcorn?”

Burt grinned. “The extra-buttery kind.”

Kurt launched himself out of his chair and into his dad’s arms, too excited to express himself in words. Burt’s heart swelled as he held that warm little body close, knowing he would be happy if he had no other birthday present than this.

Speaking of which. “Let’s see what we got here,” he suggested as Kurt let go of him but stayed standing close by. 

Picking up the card, Burt opened it, careful not to rip the stickers holding the flap closed. The card looked like a little shirt and tie - ironic considering that he never wore formal attire unless he absolutely had to - and the inside just said ‘To the Best Dad Ever’, and was signed with a hand drawn heart and Kurt’s name in large but careful cursive lettering.

“Thank you, son. I love you too.”

There were also not one, but three little packages. The first held a four inch long Phillips-head screwdriver, probably about the best size one could buy for a single dollar. Still, a guy could always use a new tool and this one just might come in handy for adjusting small engine parts. The second gift contained a sealed plastic package of Slim Jim’s. Burt nodded his thanks. One could never go wrong with beef jerky. And the third present revealed a two-pack of bubble soap complete with plastic wands.

Seeing his blank look, Kurt explained, “One is for eating, one is for working, and one is for playing. Because you always say you don’t know what you want to do on your birthday, so I decided to give you a choice.”

Burt chuckled. “You know me too well, son. Okay then. It looks like a pretty nice day for fall. What do you say we put on our coats, go see that movie, then head on over the park? We’ll grab some lunch on the way, then play on the swings and blow a few bubbles.” He picked up the cereal box and looked askance at the ugly cartoon bird who was hawking the sugary treats and suggested, “Maybe we’ll take these with us and feed the ducks.”

If Kurt was disappointed at the idea of losing his beloved Cocoa Puffs in such a way, he did not show it. On the contrary, he looked thoroughly delighted at the prospect. “We’ll have such a good time!”

Burt smiled. “Y’know what? I think we just might.”

**2\. Thanksgiving**

\- There was something weird about Thanksgiving with only two people. 

Last year they had not really bothered with the holiday. The loss of Katherine Hummel was too fresh for either of them to be able to spend a day among people who would be urging everyone to be thankful for good health and family.

Burt had just not been in the mood to spend time with his well-meaning relatives, and accepting the invitation to spend that day with Katy’s family had been even less appealing. They were also suffering from her loss, and it had felt cruel to even consider spending a day reminding them of the daughter and sister they would never see again. He had briefly considered that maybe it would be good for Kurt to go alone, and spend the holiday with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but when he had suggested it Kurt had grown nearly hysterical. Burt had backed off fast when he figured out that Kurt thought his father meant to leave him there. Kurt had insisted that Burt needed him and then burst into tears and begged him not to “go away like Mommy”. 

Kurt usually acted so solemn and grown-up for his age that the fit of childish panic had startled Burt, making him see for the first time how much time he had been spending wrapped up in his own grief to the exclusion of his only son. He had been pulling away from Kurt just when he was needed most, and boy if that did not make him feel like a world-class heel.

So that was the end of that. The unexpected sensation of relief he felt when he assured Kurt that he did not have to go anywhere, that they would make do with just the two of them, had allowed Burt to realize that he needed Kurt just as badly as Kurt needed him. The idea of spending the first big holiday completely on his own was depressing as hell, never mind throwing in a little boy’s fear of abandonment. And what the hell. Kurt had never gotten along that well with his cousins anyhow. He was just as pleased to avoid them, and also his great-grandmother on Katy’s side, who always grabbed Kurt’s rosy cheeks between pincer-like fingers and demanded to know if he’d been a good boy in the same tone one might use to interrogate a murder suspect. 

Splitting a turkey sandwich and slice of pumpkin pie at Denny’s had been good enough for both of them.

But that was last year. Enough time had passed for their loss to become a bit less raw and sharp, though it was still painful and probably always would be. This year, though they took a vote and decided that they still weren’t quite ready for the big crowds that always attended the family shindig, Kurt was determined that the two of them would have a real family Thanksgiving. At nine years old, he had grown a little taller. He was still small, but with the occasional help of a step stool he was now big enough to do most of the family cooking. 

It had come as something of a surprise to Burt to discover that Kurt’s talent for making good coffee was no fluke. He was a darned good cook. He seemed to have a natural affinity for it. Something he had not inherited from either parent. Burt tried, but anything that did not come from a can or required something more complicated than boiling, typically came out either burned beyond recognition or half-raw. Occasionally both, though he had never figured out how that was possible. Katy had had a handful of specialty dishes that she made for big occasions, but had otherwise been a microwave and crock-pot cook. Everything else they ate had always come ready-made from a restaurant or grocery store.

Kurt, on the other hand, actually seemed able to translate the mysterious hieroglyphics in Grandma Hummel’s hand-written recipe cards, following the directions carefully to create honest-to-god edible meals. Burt was enlisted for the moving of heavy roasting pans, or the cast-iron skillet some clueless soul had given to him and Katy as a wedding gift, but Kurt did all the spicing, chopping (once Burt was convinced he was not going to sever a finger), and cooking himself. He even seemed to like it.

Still, Burt had his doubts about a small boy’s ability to put together an entire Thanksgiving meal. Wasn’t a turkey a little more complicated than a roast chicken? 

He had tried to suggest that a simple turkey breast would do for just the two of them. Perhaps a couple of mashed potatoes and a can of corn to go with it. But Kurt was determined. Thanksgiving was one time of year when his mother had gone all out, frequently even hosting the family gathering. They needed to have turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, rolls, potatoes, yams, gravy, green bean casserole, corn, and both apple and pumpkin pies with fresh whipped cream.

It would be much too big a job for one boy to do alone. On that much, Burt could get his son to agree. It was also way too big of a meal for just two people, but Kurt had already thought of that. The little scamp proudly announced that he had invited Cassius, Mary, George, and Leon to Thanksgiving dinner at their house. They could come over to watch football, have dinner and pie, then play games until bedtime! 

And damned if every one of them didn’t happily confirm their acceptance of the invitation when Burt checked with them the following day. None of the group had families of their own except for George, and his wife and kids were going to be away visiting relatives in California this year. Kurt had been visiting the garage since he could first toddle a few steps on his own, and the gang all viewed him as a surrogate son or baby brother. They were happy to spend the holiday with him, and to Burt’s relief, Mary had already organized the others into bringing side-dishes. Kurt accepted this offer with amusing gravity and a small but manly handshake for each mechanic. 

In retrospect, Burt knew that he should have listened to his own common sense and just purchased a pre-cooked turkey. He had allowed himself to be swayed by Kurt’s (over)confidence and now he was paying the price. 

Not that it was Kurt’s fault that the stupid 20lb bird had refused to thaw all the way through, or that their temperamental old oven had chosen today of all days to have a fit and go cold in the middle of cooking it. And the puddle on the floor? Well, neither of them had noticed they were spilling when they’d juggled the heavy bird into the roasting pan and put it into the oven, so that was nobody’s fault either.

When Burt had heard the distressed cry of “Oh no!” from the kitchen, his first thought was not a cold oven, but a hot one and a possibly injured son. He leapt up from the sofa and charged into the kitchen, barely having time to note the tragic look on Kurt’s face and the lack of obvious bodily harm before he was sliding across the kitchen floor, arms flailing and legs flying like some kind of cartoon character as his foot found the unnoticed spill and went out from under him. He yelped in alarm as he went down, then cursed in pain a moment later when his back registered its unexpected impact with the floor.

Kurt’s blue eyes went round as saucers at the flurry of bad words. Burt did his best to bite them back. He was usually careful not to get too salty around his young son, but damn it that had hurt. 

“Are … are you okay, Daddy?” Kurt peeped, kneeling next to him and patting Burt’s shoulder with a sort of there-there solicitude. 

Burt gritted his teeth and attempted to sit up, nearly releasing another volley of swear words when his back told him what a stupid idea that was. Still, nothing felt broken, so he persisted and scooted back to rest against a handy cabinet door. “Yeah,” he gritted out. “I’m okay. Are you? I heard you yell.”

The little boy looked at the ground as he realized what had brought his father charging into the kitchen. “The turkey is cold. The oven didn’t stay hot, so it didn’t get cooked. And the stupid stuffing is gummy and gross. And my pie I made last night is all goopy in the center. Dinner is wrecked, and now I got you hurt, and nothing is how it’s supposed to be. Everything is wrong.”

Kurt sobbed out the final word and plopped down next to his father. He cried out his feelings of sorrow and frustration into Burt’s soothing shoulder, and Burt just put an arm around him, wincing as he lifted it but not about to deny the comfort his son was seeking. He did his best not to cry along with him. He got it now. Kurt’s determination to make Thanksgiving perfect had never been about wanting a big holiday. Not really. It had been a desperate attempt to make life seem normal again. To feel closer to the mother he loved and missed on what had been one of Katy’s favorite holidays. Having everything going so wrong had instead just reinforced her absence.

“I know,” Burt sighed, kissing his son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I wish she could be here too.”

Apparently, his understanding of the problem helped a little. Kurt’s stormy sobs quieted and soon he just sat, sniffling occasionally and wiping his hand across his eyes or nose. Burt managed to reach the pile of cloth napkins Kurt had set on the countertop in preparation for setting the table and encouraged him to blow his nose. 

Kurt resisted for a moment, not wanting to ruin his count for dinner, then sighed as he remembered that there was no dinner anyway and did as he was told.

Now that the shock was wearing off, Burt found that he could move a bit easier. He was going to be crazy sore for a couple of days, but it did not feel like he had done himself any permanent harm. “Help me up. Maybe we can salvage this dinner yet.”

“How?” Kurt asked, scrambling to his feet and bracing himself as he grabbed Burt’s arm and pulled with all his might. Between them, they got him upright and after a moment of self-assessment, Burt decided he would stay that way. 

Burt smiled down at him. “Well, I’ve never tried it before but I’ve heard that you can barbecue a turkey and have it come out pretty good. Why don’t you go into the office and fire up the computer? Go online and see if you can find a good recipe while I dig out the grill and get ‘er started. Between us, we’ll figure things out.”

Dashing away a final few tears, Kurt smiled and scampered off to boot up the PC his dad had recently installed in the tiny home office where he did the paperwork for his business. Burt trusted him to find what they were looking for on his own. Like most of his generation, Kurt had taken to computers like a duck to water, and was actually a lot faster at using it than his father was.

Sure enough, he came back within ten minutes, waving a sheet of printer paper overhead like a triumphant flag. “I got it,” he announced, holding out the sheet to his dad.

Burt had wheeled the black kettle barbecue out from the garage and into the back yard. They’d still had half a bag of charcoal left over from summer, luckily. He read over the print-out and nodded, shaking out a modest amount and setting it in small piles around the perimeter of the lower grill. Looked like they were supposed to maintain an even medium heat, adding new coals about once an hour around the already filled roasting pan. The pan had its own rack so they wouldn’t have to worry about grease drips.

It took a little while to get everything arranged the exact way the recipe recommended (thankfully there were a couple of pictures included with the instructions) but soon their dinner was roasting away in its little outdoor oven. Best of all, Kurt looked very impressed by his father’s successful Thanksgiving improvisation.

“It’ll be your job to watch the time and make sure we add new charcoal every hour,” Burt told the boy solemnly. “Don’t let me get too caught up in the game and forget. After a couple of hours, we’ll start testing it with a meat thermometer to see how it’s doing, but I’ll handle that part.”

Kurt nodded with equal seriousness. Burt had to fight the urge to smile, knowing that he had better be prepared to add briquettes every hour on the hour and that Kurt would be overseeing every check of that bird’s temperature with growing excitement as it cooked.

Luckily for him, the doorbell rang just then. Burt shooed his son off to greet their guests, using the distraction to hitch his way slowly inside the house. He would be fine, but he would rather his mechanics not see how much effort it was taking to walk without wincing. By the time he got inside, everyone had their coats off and were getting their ears filled with a dramatic recreation of his fall and heroic rescue of Thanksgiving dinner in the face of “excruciating” pain.

Burt snorted, wondering where the kid had picked up that word. I mean, sure his back was pretty sore, but Kurt made it sound like he had rescued the turkey from the top of a burning building or something. Still, the pride in his son’s face did make the pain seem a bit less sharp.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he greeted, shaking hands and directing everyone to set their potluck dishes on the table. They could reheat anything that needed attention later on. After he made sure that the kitchen floor was clear of any more unexpected hazards. “Anyone need a beer or a soda before we turn on the game?”

Kurt had kept a sharp eye on the clock, and Burt had checked their dinner at regular intervals until the meat thermometer showed the correct temperature. They got everything dished up and reheated, set the table, and Burt solved the shorted-napkin dilemma by finding Katy’s old set of white linen napkins, which he alternated with the brown set Kurt had picked out, resulting in a very nice effect that even his picky nine-year-old pronounced perfect.

By the end of the evening, the two-man Hummel Thanksgiving party had been pronounced a success by all who attended. The barbecued turkey came out beautifully, even without any stuffing. The mashed potatoes and gravy were fluffy and perfect. The pumpkin pie was declared a lost cause but the apple was delicious. And Leon’s green-bean casserole, Cassius’s candied yams (grandma’s secret recipe), George’s home-made biscuits, and Mary’s pumpkin cheesecake added to the festivities perfectly. The way Kurt looked at Mary after he had his first taste of that cake made Burt question his private assumptions about his son being gay. The kid looked at her like he was already planning out the details of their wedding.

After dinner they all played a rousing game of Monopoly, then Kurt coaxed the mechanics into a quick game of Murder Mystery. (Actually just a Clue game that Kurt liked to play out live when they had enough people.) The child’s happiness at figuring out that he (aka Mr. Green) had murdered the victim by whacking them over the head with a candlestick, and the drama of his subsequent ‘confession’ had left the four mechanics in stitches.

Burt had preferred to watch the game and rest his still mildly sore back, but after seeing everyone out and getting Kurt washed up and into his PJ’s, he happily tucked the sleepy boy into his big leather chair and popped in the VHS of ‘The Sound of Music’ to watch with him.

Kurt only made it as far as the Von Trapp puppet show before he was sound asleep, snoring against Burt’s side, but Burt let the movie run and just enjoyed the feeling of that warm little body next to him.

There had been a few rough spots, but as holidays went, this had been a damn good one.

**3\. Easter**

-“I don’t want to do the egg hunt this year.” 

Burt looked up from the magazine he had just received in the mail. Kurt was holding up a flyer from the neighborhood civic association, his expression suggesting that the innocent piece of paper had done something offensive. The association had apparently been stuffing mailboxes again with reminders of the big weekend event. “But why not? You love that thing.” 

The boy grimaced like he’d tasted something sour. “No, Dad. I loved it when I was six. I liked it when I was ten. Last year it was a complete drag. I was one of the oldest kids there. I only got away with it because I’m one of the smallest in my class, but I’m almost a teenager now. I’m going to look ridiculous out there hunting for Easter eggs with all those babies!” 

As much as it pained him, Burt had to admit that his son probably had a point. Baby-faced and on the shorter side, it was easy to pretend that Kurt was still a little boy, but he would be 13 at the end of next month. He was wearing a set of braces on his teeth and beginning to show the signs of teenage acne around his chin and forehead. Burt thought his voice might have changed a bit this year too, though so far it was still pretty high. “Guess it’s not as much fun at your age, huh?” 

The boy plopped down on the sofa with an aggrieved air. “It’s miserable.” 

“And I suppose it doesn’t help any that the thing is always church-sponsored.” 

At this, Kurt looked startled. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “How did you know?” 

Burt shook his head. “I may not be the smartest guy on the block, but I’m not an idiot. You started having doubts about God when your mom got sick, and every time we’ve gone to church since then I’ve seen the disbelief go a little deeper.” 

Kurt flushed and refused to look at him. Burt sympathized. He had never been a big church enthusiast himself, but he had continued going from time to time out of respect for his wife’s memory. Katy had been a believer. However, his own attendance had dropped off quite a bit when he started noticing how often the pastor seemed to work in messages against ‘sinners’ who should ‘repent’ being gay. He didn’t need to hear that crap in a place of supposed divine love. And Kurt definitely did not need to hear it. Though they had never spoken of it, the suspicion he had held since Kurt was a toddler was by now a bona fide certainty. It would be up to his son to talk about all that when he was ready, and Burt could not deny to himself that he was willing to put that conversation off for as long as humanly possible, but when the time did come he did not want Kurt to think that his father agreed with those bigots at church. 

So maybe he should stop acting like a big old coward and try putting out a feeler. 

“Y’know, there’s nothing wrong with being the way you are,” he ventured. Kurt looked up, such horror springing to his eyes that Burt hastily backpedaled. Crap, the kid looked terrified. Clearly now was not the time. “An atheist, I mean. You don’t have to believe in religion or even in God to be a good person. Free will is still a human prerogative, and if you’re trying your best to do good by other people then I figure you’re ahead of the curve, regardless of what you believe about the here-after. Do unto others and all that.” 

“So I don’t have to go to church anymore?”

“No,” he said calmly. “Y’ don’t. And you don’t have to do the egg hunt either. You’re getting old enough to make your own decisions about stuff like that. If you don’t want to go, I won’t try to make you.”

Kurt relaxed. “Thanks for understanding. So … it’s really okay if we don’t do anything big for Easter?” He smiled a little. “Even if it means missing out on the chocolate bunnies they always hide inside those big plastic eggs?” 

Burt chuckled. “I’m good. Besides, there’s no rule against being your own Easter bunny. I can go over to the store today and grab us a stash of chocolate bunnies, marshmallow chicks, those little caramel eggs.” 

The smile became a bit wider. “You can have mine. Chocolate makes me break out. But if you want, I’ll hide some plastic eggs around the yard and you can search for them this year.” 

He pretended to consider it. “Nah. I’ll take the candy, but egg hunting is really for you kids. But suppose I were to stash a little cash in some of those eggs and then hide ‘em around the house. Would you be interested then?”

That gave Kurt pause. He had been trying to save up enough for a designer sweater he had seen at the mall. And his father knew it. “How much are we talking about?”

“You’ll have to go searching and find out,” Burt hedged. “But even if it’s only a few bucks, that’s more than you have right now.”

Kurt made a face, clearly not sure that it was worth risking his near-teenaged dignity for a possible pittance. 

Burt grinned. Gotcha. “On the other hand, it might be more than that. Who knows?”

“You do, if you’re the bunny,” he pointed out, then he sighed with the martyred air of one who is reluctantly humoring a ridiculous idea (that he secretly loved). “Oh, okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Great! Give me until 8am on Sunday morning to get everything set.”

Finally, Kurt smiled big enough for a gleam of metal to show. “Deal. And Dad? If you really want me to do this, you don’t have to bribe me. I’ll do it for you.”

Burt felt a bubble of pride well up in his chest. He had a damn good kid. Maybe he would buy Kurt that sweater instead and just hide a few clues in those eggs to help him find where it was hidden.

“Thanks, son. I appreciate that.”

**4\. Mother’s Day**

\- Family picnics at the cemetery might seem a little strange to most people. Particularly on Mother’s Day. But Kurt Hummel’s situation was a little more unusual than most people’s. This is where his mother was, so this is where he came every 2nd Sunday of May. Rain or shine. Just as he had for the past 6 years.

Kurt’s father understood perfectly. Who better to know just how much it meant to his nearly 15-year-old to spend such an important day with the woman they both loved most in the world?

Kurt would pack a basket just-so, including placemats and dishware, linen napkins and real silverware. He would cook and bake all day Saturday, all of her favorite foods, and a flask of sweet iced tea. Katy had been from the South originally and she had always taken her tea with enough sugar to make Burt feel a bit sick. Kurt did not like his tea ultra-sweet either, but on Mother’s Day he made an exception. He would pack her favorite blanket, and a ground-cloth and umbrella too if the weather was not conducive to sitting in grass out in the open air.

And even though it was Kurt and Katy’s special day, and Burt always gave him the first few minutes to talk with her alone, Kurt always wanted him to join them sooner or later. He would urge Burt to tell her about the garage, or what movie he’d been watching on television, or anything else that came to mind.

Burt did so with a grateful heart. He had felt a bit silly that first year, a bit morbid and even angry to be sharing a casual monologue with a cold uncaring headstone when he really wanted to be talking to the living, breathing woman again. But he had eventually opened up and found himself sharing thoughts and even feelings with that quiet grave, allowing Katy’s memory to heal the gaping wound in his soul.

Kurt always returned the favor and gave his parents a few minutes together while he went in search of the best blossoms from the flower vendor who kept a little shop at the edge of the cemetery for just such occasions. The lady’s name was Laura, and she charged very little for such high-quality flowers. She had people here too, Kurt had told him. She understood.

This year, Kurt took a little more time than usual in talking with his mom while Burt stood back patiently waiting his turn. It was a lovely sunny day this year, and he found himself content to stand by and let Kurt take his time. The boy had been quieter this year, more introspective and sad. He seemed to be struggling more in school, and he rarely went out anymore. Burt had not been able to get him to open up and they seemed to be drifting further apart all the time. Kurt would start high school next fall and Burt worried that the problem would only get worse. 

Maybe Katy could help him in some small way.

When it was time for Burt to join them, he found himself unexpectedly without anything to say. There was Kurt, kneeling on the picnic blanket with his hands in his lap and his long lashes brushing his cheeks as he looked down and studied his twisting fingertips, looking so much like her for a moment that Burt had to fight back a lump of tears. How was it fair that a boy so young, a boy so lost and so damned different, who needed a mother’s understanding love, had been forced to grow up without her? Without anyone but a blunt, clumsy, emotionally tongue-tied father who couldn’t even understand what made him tick half the time?

“She would have been proud of the man you’re becoming,” he found himself saying. The words surprised them both. Kurt looked up, eyes wide and questioning. “I see her in you. Her strength, her smarts, that wise way she had of dealing with things, like she always had an angel on her shoulder whispering the right way to go. You got that too.”

The boy smiled a bit shyly in the face of such unexpected praise. “She used to say I was like you. Stubborn, and determined, and generous, and kind.” He bit his lip, staring off to the side for a moment as if wrestling with some inner dilemma. “I’m not sure I’m any of those things, except for stubborn, but Mom thought I was, so I try to be. I don’t want to give up.”

Burt did not know what they were talking about exactly, but the quiet words sent a chill down his spine. He reached out and grabbed Kurt’s folded hands with one of his own. “Then don’t. And if it ever gets too tough and you need someone to be stubborn for you, you just reach out and I’ll be there. Okay?”

Tears glistened in Kurt’s eyes and he nodded. “Okay.” He sniffled and dashed at his nose. Abruptly, he stood up and said, “I’m going to see if Laura has any daisies this year.”

He walked away quickly and Burt watched him go, hoping and praying that he would have whatever strength his son would need in the coming years. “Help me watch over him, Katy,” he whispered. “Watch over us both.”

Burt held his breath in surprise when a warm breeze suddenly caressed his cheek, and a second small draft reached out to ruffle Kurt’s hair. Well, if that wasn’t an answer, he didn’t know what could be!

Jumping to his feet, Burt jogged to catch up with his son. He slung an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and said, “What do you say we get your mom some roses too? Think she’d like that?”

Kurt just smiled and slipped an answering arm around Burt’s sturdy waist, giving him a little sideways hug.

That was enough answer for them both.

**5\. Christmas**

-Kurt walked into the garage, pausing to exchange pleasantries with Cassius and Leon on the way to his father’s office in the back. When he got there, Kurt tossed his leather satchel on the sofa and executed a neat pirouette that ended in a dramatic sprawl across the little couch. “Vay – cay – shuuuuun,” he moaned.

Burt shook his head, smirking into the paperwork he was filling out on the classic ’65 Dodge Charger he and the boys had just finished tuning up. Dave Lewis had restored that car from a junker himself, but he always brought it by Hummel’s when his pride and joy needed servicing. It was a show of faith in his work that Burt did not take lightly, so he finished the service tally in full before allowing himself to be distracted by his son’s attention-grabbing antics. “Don’t you have one more day before Winter Break starts?”

“Only a half day, and it’s pretty much just everyone goofing off and exchanging holiday plans,” Kurt said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “Semester finals are over so the teachers are mentally on vacation already. All I have is biology, English, and glee club until the assembly at 11. Then I’m free for two glorious weeks.”

Burt laughed. Anyone would think from his rapturous tone that Kurt was kept chained to his school work with no breaks 24 hours a day. Though he could remember feeling the same way whenever a school holiday loomed, so Burt couldn’t exactly blame him.

Kurt sat up and said, “Hey, I have an idea. Want to meet me for lunch at Zoom’s after I get out tomorrow? I’ll buy you a cheeseburger and then we can go Christmas shopping!”

Burt considered it. He had bought a couple of gifts for Kurt already, but it was rare for his son to invite him to do stuff he usually did with his gal-pals from Glee. Not that Burt objected to being left out of things like that. A shopping trip with Kurt Hummel was not for the weak! Never had been, but it was especially true since he had come out of the closet and no longer felt the need to hide the things he truly enjoyed. And it was really good to know that Kurt finally had friends to spend his free time with, instead of always being on the outside looking in. 

Still, that did not mean that Burt didn’t occasionally miss the days when they were basically a two man operation. “Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.”

The boy bounced up from the sofa and gave his father a big hug from behind, taking the opportunity to steal one of the doughnuts from the box on his desk while he was within reach. That told Burt that his son was in especially high spirits. He usually avoided processed sugars like the plague. 

Although … maybe there was more to it than just a good mood. Burt considered his happily munching offspring, eyes skimming over his form from head to toe. First Kurt suggested going to Zoom’s Burgers (’Home of the Fastest Food in Town!’) and now he was eating doughnuts. Experience suggested that that meant a big growth spurt was about to hit. Those were almost always heralded by a couple of months where Burt could not refill the cupboards and refrigerator often enough. His normally sensible eater would basically become a locust horde on two skinny legs.

“Maybe we’d better start with a visit to the Outlet mall,” Burt told him. “Those pants are already looking a little short and something tells me the clothes you’ve got now aren’t gonna fit too much longer. I know it’s supposed to be a Christmas shopping trip, but I want you to try on a few things for size. We’ll see if we can get ahead of the game before you end up wearing high-waters and designer tents to school.”

Kurt’s expression was comical, caught somewhere between delight at the idea of buying new clothes, and worry at the thought of not looking his best. He looked down at his current ensemble of cherry red jeans and a layered variegated sweater. “Is it that bad?”

“Not yet,” Burt said honestly, “but all that dancin’ seems to be filling you out a little. You’re built just like your Uncle Andy. When he was just about your age, he suddenly got wide through the shoulders, skinny through the waist, and grew legs like a friggin’ giraffe. He put on a good six inches of height between sophomore and senior year.”

Kurt beamed at this news. He had always hated being one of the shortest boys in school, and the idea that he might get a new wardrobe along with a more impressive physique clearly thrilled him. “You really think I’ll grow that much?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Burt told him. 

After that conversation, Kurt remained in a wonderful state of cheer throughout his vacation. Burt caught him several times preening into handy reflective surfaces, pulling himself up as tall as he could and attempting to flex his shoulders and suck in his stomach. Clearly envisioning the fine figure he would cut once the promised growth spurt began. He did not even seem to mind being steered away from scary-expensive garments on their shopping trip, content to believe that he would not get enough wear out of them to be worth the purchase. 

This did not, however, deter him from hinting strongly for gift cards to his favorite clothing stores. It was a good idea, really, so Burt bought a number of them on the sly and packaged them all up together in a little flat cookie tin left over from another Christmas. 

As he wrapped the gift in shiny paper and stuck a bow on it, Burt reflected ruefully that the saying about good things coming in small packages definitely applied. This particular present was tiny compared to the ergonomic seat cover for Kurt’s SUV, new boots for the upcoming ski weekend he had planned with some of his singing friends, the heavy winter parka Burt had bought to replace that silly piece of fashionable nothing Kurt had picked out for himself last fall, and the new bookcase Burt had built in the workshop behind their house; but it was easily the most expensive.

He’d gone a little overboard shopping for his son this Christmas. He was definitely going to be feeling some sticker shock when the credit card bill came next month, but it was hard not to spoil him sometimes. Kurt was such a good kid. Sure he was a little mouthy sometimes, and he had attitude to spare when he thought he was in the right about something, but he was also generous and good-hearted, caring and brave. He deserved good things, and Burt thought he didn’t get damn near enough of those from the outside world. 

Plus, if he was entirely honest with himself, Burt felt the need to make up in some small way for the fact that he had been so distant and stand-offish regarding Kurt’s sexuality. He had known since the kid was three for God-sake, and yet he had still made himself so unapproachable on the subject that it had taken his son all the way up to his second year in high school to feel confident enough to talk to him about it. In retrospect, Burt knew he had been a damn coward and he wanted to let Kurt know that he was sorry. No one could buy forgiveness; not that Kurt seemed to hold his actions against him; but it would make Burt feel better to offer an apology anyway. A solid show of contrition in the form of kooky runway model clothing that Kurt could pick out for himself. A sign that Burt was okay with him dressing and being exactly like he was, on Kurt’s own terms.

What better gift could any parent give to the child he loved?

**1\. Kurt’s Birthday**

-Burt watched with a smile as Kurt leaned closer to his husband, laughing at something Adam was whispering in his ear. In Kurt’s lap he was cuddling eight month old baby Katie, automatically tugging her pudgy hand back as she reached for one of the intriguing blue frosting flowers on the cake Carole had just set in front of them.

Adam held five-year-old Austen in his own lap, bouncing his stepson on his thigh and giving him a good view of the festivities as Carole used an automatic lighter to set 30 tiny candles alight.

The entire room sang an enthusiastic rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to their shining eyed guest of honor, then Kurt took a deep breath and blew the candles out in one mighty gust that brought cheers and applause. 

Whether it was the extinguishing of the pretty little flames or the fact that her Daddy still wouldn’t let her grab one of those tempting roses, Katie suddenly let go a piercing shriek of discontent. The whole room winced, then laughed when Burt called out, “As you can tell, she inherited her dad’s lungs!” 

Adam set Austen down and took the baby, bouncing her and making funny faces until her bad mood changed to sweet baby laughter. Kurt gave him a grateful peck on the lips as he stood to begin cutting the cake for his guests. 

Kurt lifted Austen up to stand on his abandoned chair, assigning his son the task of placing a plastic fork on each newly filled cake plate. Kurt liked to make his little boy to feel like an important part of any event, and as Burt watched his grandson smile brightly and offer the plates to each approaching guest, he enjoyed a feeling of warm nostalgia. The child looked so much like his father had at that age, when Kurt had delighted in trotting back and forth between toolboxes and cars, handing screwdrivers and small wrenches to Burt and his mechanics whenever Katy brought him by to visit Daddy at work. 

The sight of his son, handsome and confident, surrounded by a loving family and a host of good friends, made Burt feel suddenly choked up. He excused himself from the room with a muttered excuse about finding the restroom, then retreated to the small deck of the restaurant Adam had reserved for Kurt’s party today. 

He needed a few minutes to get himself back under control, taking a few breaths of warm late spring air to push back the feeling of wanting to cry. Damn, he must be getting old.

“Dad?” a gentle voice interrupted. “I saw you duck out. Are you okay?”

Burt turned to look at Kurt, smiling to erase the concerned look on his face. “I’m fine. I’m great, actually. Just feeling a little sentimental all of a sudden, I guess.”

His son came all the way out, shutting the glass door behind him and leaning his forearms on the railing in imitation of his dad’s pose. He smiled. “Is it weird to know your little boy is 30 years old now? It’s kind of weird for me.”

Burt nodded. “A little bit, yeah.” He paused, considering how much to share, then decided to just go for it. “I was really just thinking how happy I am that you’re at such a good place in your life. Friends, family, a good job that makes you happy, a guy who lights up every time you walk in the room and treats you like gold. You waited a hell of a long time for those things, and it kinda gets me right here when I see that you finally got ‘em.”

He thumped himself on the chest in demonstration, and as he put his hand back down, Kurt reached out to clasp it. “I wouldn’t have any of it if you hadn’t been there for me, to see me through all the hard times and push me to keep trying even when I wanted to give up.”

Burt squeezed his hand back, but said, “Nah. I was just kinda stumbling through half the time, not knowing what the hell I was doing. And sometimes you can’t deny that I made some seriously wrong decisions where you were concerned. Practically paved the road to hell with all my good intentions.”

They were quiet a moment, then Kurt said, “Nobody makes the right choices all the time, and you just wanted me to be happy. You still let me follow my own path, even when it wasn’t one you knew how to walk with me. I wouldn’t trade any of the bad times back if it meant I wouldn’t be where I am today.” He laughed lightly. “Besides, it’s kind of reassuring to know that when I eventually fuck up with Austen and Katie, there’s a pretty good chance they won’t hold it against me long term.”

Burt chuckled. “There is that.” He smiled. “We been through a lot together, you and me, and I wouldn’t trade any of it either. Your mom would have made some of it a lot easier, but I know she’d be as proud as I am of the man you’ve become.”

“She’d be proud of you too,” Kurt said. “You didn’t know how to be a single parent, or the father of a gay son, or how to encourage dreams that would never fit in a small town like Lima; but somehow you figured it all out and did it anyway. I couldn’t have had a better start in life than being your son, and thanks to you, I think I’m turning out to be a pretty good dad.”

“A great dad,” he corrected, brushing a hand across his nose to disguise the teary sniffle that emerged. “And one hell of a great son. I love you, kid. Happy Birthday.”

“I love you too,” he said, straightening up to give his dad a tight embrace. As he let go, he eased the moment by saying, “Shall we go see if Adam left us any cake? I asked him to make me a chocolate one this year but when they were baking it together, I think he and Austen ate half the batter and about a cup of icing.”

Burt laughed, grateful for the emotional reprieve. “That would explain why my son in law was talking three times faster than usual when he picked me and Carole up from the airport yesterday.” 

“Did you see that bouquet of balloons he got me? I bet I could untie it and float away like the house from “Up!” if I tried.”

Laughing now, father and son left bittersweet memories behind them and walked back inside to celebrate the beginning of many more wonderful years.

THE END


End file.
